I paused. Ted was regarding me intently. He came to and nodded down at his plate, which was almost empty. Mine was almost full and I hadn't taken much. Couldn't really eat. I drank, though. No problem there. He was looking very Fisherman's Friend tonight, I decided, in his navy-blue cable-knit sweater and jeans. His tousled hair was quite gray, I realized, and whose wasn't? His huge frame leaned back rather precariously in one of our tiny wrought-iron garden chairs and I hoped it wouldn't collapse.

He smiled. "What are you thinking?"

"Captain Birdseye."

He laughed. “Thanks!"

I endeavored to keep it light. The mood I was in could have me being far more revealing about myself than I'd like. All that stuff about painting. I could feel myself coming over all confessional.

“Minus the beard, of course."

"Oh, I did that once, but d'you know what?"

"It came through white?"

"How did you know?"

I shrugged. "It's a young man's craze at the moment, so all the older guys think, hey, yeah, I can do that — and look like Santa Claus. They think they're so cool and they get edgy new clothes to go with it and . .” I tailed off. I didn't like the way I was sounding. Mean. Caviling. And I knew why.

“Something wrong?"

"No, just ignore me." I gave a wan smile. "I'm not entirely myself tonight. I'm sure you looked totally hot."

"I'm sure I didn't, and you're right, I did buy some new clothes. Bright red. Even got a sack of toys as well."

I smiled down at my plate.

"Want to tell me about it?"

I sighed. Put my fork down. “Not really.” But after a pause, I did anyway, knowing I couldn't think about anything else, and knowing it would be rude not to.

He nodded thoughtfully when I'd finished. Frowned.

“Not sure the affair is entirely appropriate.”

I sat up, delighted. “It's not, is it?”

“Not really. I mean, some would say it's fine, but it's slightly taking advantage, isn't it? I've met your Peter. He's a bit of an innocent.”

“He's a baby!”

“And I think he's wrong about Oxford.”

“Yes. I know!”

“I don't think he realizes quite what he's turning down.”

“Exactly!”

“Quite what an opportunity it is.”

“I love you.”

He shouted that laugh up to the sky, and again, I enjoyed hearing it. Suddenly it came to me. “Will you talk to him?”

“Me?”

"Yes, he likes you, I could see that yesterday. And you're an academic, he'll respect you. Oh, please talk to him, Ted, promise me you'll do it!"

He laughed. “Sure. If you think it'll do any good."

"I do, I do!" I was forking fish pie into my mouth, suddenly hungry, ravenous, and then weirdly — not. I put my fork down.

"He'll listen to you," I said decisively, feeling better than I had for — ooh, two hours. Sorted. Fixed. I liked that.